


Tide

by rathrunpredictabl



Series: Miscellenous Shatterdome Moments [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hiding under the table, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Vicariously dealing with daddy issues by offering unpractised paternal comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathrunpredictabl/pseuds/rathrunpredictabl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight in the corridor and the horrible conversation in Sensei’s room, Mako runs to the next best of her safe places: deep down beneath the dome, in a quiet corner of the lab...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tide

_'Permission to be dismissed, sir?'_

_'Permission granted, Miss Mori.'_

_'Mako...'_

Run run run run, in time with the pounding in her chest and in her head. No one stops her. People fold out of the way. She runs and runs faster and faster and wishes to run out of her skin and bones and go back into the drift and the silence. Maybe she will never get to drift again…

Down all the stairs, boots clanging, the blue streaks of her hair flicking in and out of her fuzzy vision. Silence. She wants silence and darkness and silence and possibly something to hit. She can still feel him warm inside her head. Pencil shavings. Cut grass and icy rain; sunlit lazy breakfasts on weekends. The searing pain in her— his— left arm and the unspeakable brutal wrenching rip in the rain and storm that took her— his— brother.

_Raleigh listen to me!_

Run run run run, and her right foot is soaked with snow and the world is dead and still and echoes with the ragged cries of her fear.

Through a broad opening and around a corner, edging between the wall and a desk stacked high with neat files and books and data drives. A large bright machine she’d never asked the purpose of. The off-white plastic of computer monitors almost as old as she is. At last an empty corner, beneath another table.  _Hide hide hide hide._ Mako crawls in and brings her knees to her forehead and wraps her arms around, and grips tight as she shakes with trying not to sob like a child. The memory is so sharp it slices through her training, through her common sense, through her usually perfect control. She hugs herself as tight as she can; the sterility of the room is swamped by concrete dust and snow and the acrid stench of Onibaba as the world ends around her although it's very very quiet in here. All she can do is hold on tightly and ride it out. Her left arm throbs with a pulse that is not her own, and her right foot is so very cold.

Everything hurts. Everything is wrong. Raleigh's useless attempts to talk her out of the memory; the pain in his voice when she left sensei's room. As though through a glass darkly she remembers the acid tang of his fear as he shared the memory, "just a memory", magnified and reflected through her own. If it's not real then why are you shaking? Then bright bright lights, and the chanting voice of the AI. Awkwardly cradled in his plastic-coated arms in the conn pod, the tenderness suffering beneath weight of their failure. Waiting for Raleigh to turn the fight around so she could get a few punches into Chuck Hansen's egotistical teeth herself; the gleam of surprise when Raleigh subsequently floored him using one of her favourite moves.

Blame. Disgrace. The eloquent expression of care and disappointment and helplessness in sensei's dark eyes... 

The wail of her ten-year-old self sticks in her throat. The wave of hurt crests and descends in a long, loud, shuddering sigh. She lifts her shaking head to see a pair of scuffed brown and white shoes and a rubber-tipped cane, crumpled trousers, and near the table top a pale hand extends to her.

Mako takes a breath in surprise and scrambles out and bows and is on the point of apologising for hiding in his side of the lab, but Dr Gottlieb has put his free hand on her shoulder; he looks at her intently, eyes narrowed, then makes a small ‘Tsk,’ noise and pulls her into a hug.

His blazer tickles her cheek as she wraps her arms around, retaining enough presence of mind to be wary not to crush his glasses and not to pinion his cane-arm. Chalk and starch glide into her mind instead of snow and storms and monsters, bringing different memories. Solving his strange little maths problems on her tablet; arguing about the remakes of Gundam Wing and NGE with Newt; clambering up the ladder with a rag to clean the chalkboard; giggling as she and Newt scrabble to collect the scattered pieces of gelatinous, clotted Kaiju tissue… Arranging the logistics for the transportation of the new Kaiju specimens and Newt’s giddy gratitude at her care for them… Catching Dr Gottlieb’s exasperated and weary glance across the elevator at the words ‘two thousand five hundred tonnes of awesome’.

She makes a little noise. The hand rubs her back.

She misses her father, suddenly and violently.

Dr Gottlieb holds her tightly for a long second, and places a quick kiss on the top of her head before he lets go, his hand back on her shoulder. His expression is difficult to read, since he's squinting to focus on her, but the origami-folds of his voice are as precise as ever, though his tone is soft. ‘I cannot stay, my presence is required in the control room, but please, remain here for as long as you need.' He removes his hand to fish in his trouser pocket and retrieve a handkerchief, which he passes to her, and replaces his hand on her shoulder. 'I won’t give you away,' he adds gently.

'Thank you,' she manages, wiping her face with the cloth and sniffing. It smells of cheap soap and, obscurely, Sunday mornings. Folding laundry, with birdsong... Mako isn't sure if that's one of hers or one of Raleigh's. She can't remember if her father used handkerchiefs.

Dr Gottlieb's brows come together as she shudders. 'Ms Mori. Are you quite sure you will be all right?'

'Yes, thank you.' She sniffs again and manages to smile. 'I will go back upstairs soon. Thank you.'

He quirks a sad smile of his own, which flickers over his face and leaves no trace behind, and gives her shoulder a last squeeze. Then he draws a deep breath, nods to her in a self-conscious, endearingly European approximation of the bows she makes to him, and turns awkwardly and leaves.

The drift and the hangover are still very much present, but she has control again. She can feel (or thinks she can feel) Raleigh nudging at her mind, in a way she can only describe as like a concerned golden retriever. She realises he's been growling while she was being hugged back into one piece, little spikes of anger flickering on the horizon of her mental landscape. She should go back now, to find out what happened and to make sure that he is okay. She is staring to get hungry.

Mako puts the handkerchief in her pocket and makes a little tour of the quiet lab, touching desks and lights and the controls of the holoscreen, grounding herself. The Kaiju brain sucks at the wall of the tank and she puts her hand to the tentacle-thing. She touches a clear part of the blackboard with one hand and touches the tips of her fingers to the decontamination gel with the other.

She draws a deep breath, not conscious of her imitation, and with the smell of formaldehyde and chalk that she carries with her when she leaves she also carries a sense of the strange, gyroscopic stability that pervades the lab; the constant tugging churning tides that form the solid ocean; the counterpoint to sensei's cool calm.

She clenches her fists, and heads back upstairs.


End file.
